


Christmas Blues

by Fox_In_A_Box



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Christmas, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Love Confessions, M/M, One Shot, Season/Series 03, mayor and chief of staff shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:34:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21887506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fox_In_A_Box/pseuds/Fox_In_A_Box
Summary: It's holiday season in Gotham and mayor Cobblepot is haunted by the bittersweet memories of the past Christmas days he spent with his mother. A heart to heart with his Chief of Staff about their respective childhoods has unexpected yet pleasant developments.
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Comments: 8
Kudos: 85





	Christmas Blues

**Author's Note:**

> My humble Christmas offering to the Nygmobblepot fandom. Can you believe it’s already a years since I got obsessed with this show?

_"It's alright, mother. It's just a small job at the club, I'll be home for dinner."_

_Gertrud didn't listen. She kept adjusting the long red scarf around her son's neck, taking care that it was tight enough to prevent him from catching a cold or, even worse, a nasty sore throat. With snow falling outside, there was no way she was going to let her child walk out of the apartment without the right clothes._

_When she was done, she placed both of her hands on his shoulders and looked at him in the eyes. "That evil woman," she said. "Forcing my son to work on Christmas Eve!"_

_Oswald sighed, but smiled all the same. No matter how much she fussed and fretted around him, he couldn't bring himself to be embarrassed. Not when it was just the two of them and the house was filled with the delicious smell of cookies baking in the oven._

_This year was different. He had a job and a salary, and he could finally start taking care of his mother like she had done for him for so long. For too long. In fact, he couldn't wait to see her reaction when he'd give her the silver pendant she had been admiring for months from the window of the antique shop on the other side of the street._

_Oswald gave one of her hands a gentle squeeze before stepping back. "I won't take long. Promise."_

_Reassured, Gertrud let him go and return to the kitchen to finish the preparations for their customary Christmas dinner._

_"I'll draw you a nice hot bath when you come back, yes?" Oswald heard her ask from the adjacent room._

_"I'd like that, thank you."_

_He was already halfway out the door when his mother called for him again._

_"One last thing, Oswald..."_

"Oswald?"

The memory started to dissolve, the distant sound of a familiar voice dragging him back to reality. He tried to hold on to the smell of freshly baked gingerbread, to the creaking noise of the old radio playing Christmas song in the background, to the soft texture of the woollen scarf secured around his neck, but to no avail. His mother's warm smile faded, as did the red and golden hue of their neighbours' Christmas lights reflecting in the windows of his childhood home.

"Oswald, are you listening?"

Oswald blinked away the last remnants of his past to find himself face to face with a rather preoccupied Ed Nygma. The crease in his forehead spoke of worry, yet it took Oswald a while to realise that he was worried _for him_.

"I'm sorry Edward, I'm--"

"Not not feeling like yourself?" Ed anticipated him. "Yes, I could tell."

Oswald took some time to readjust to his surroundings. He remembered sitting down on the chaise longue by the fireplace with a good glass of bourbon in hand to help ease the dull ache that had been tormenting his bad leg ever since the evenings at the mansion had started getting colder.

The intention had been to write his speech for the imminent Grand Opening of holiday season in Gotham, Ed jumping at the chance to offer him some help with figuring out the trickiest parts. But somewhere along the line the whiskey had conspired with the quiet crackling of the fire inside the hearth to lull him into a comfortable state somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, and he ended up embarking on an unplanned trip down memory lane.

Oswald tried to swallow the lump in his throat with a long sip of bourbon, but he found himself grimacing as the liquid burned its way down his throat. He had been staring at the flames dancing slowly in the fireplace for...how long?

The pain gnawing at his bones had subsided somewhat, only to be replaced with a less nasty but equally annoying pressure around his temples. He shut his eyes, silently cursing himself for having ever thought that drinking on an empty stomach whilst trying to come up with a series of moving metaphors about kindness and acceptance would be a good idea. But oh, Ed was still talking to him and after ignoring him for so long the least he could do was pay attention to him now. 

"...anything I can do, just say the word."

Oswald wanted to shake his head, but something told him that if he attempted such an abrupt movement, he would only end up aggravating the situation. He had no desire to add nausea to the mix, or to see the entire room spinning uncontrollably around him. He settled for dismissing the other man's concern with a curt gesture of his hand.

"It's alright. I'm just tired. Can't it wait until tomorrow?"

Ed nodded. "Of course."

Oswald watched him gather his pen and papers, then proceed to put them back inside the olive-green folder he had brought with him from the office. Neatly, efficiently, much like he did everything else.

He had been nothing short of obliging ever since setting foot through the threshold of Van Dahl manor. The very moment he had accepted his position as Mayor Cobblepot's loyal Chief of Staff, he had started doing anything in his power complete as many tasks as he could in the shortest time possible, to the point that sometimes even Oswald struggled to keep up with him. Always a step ahead, he seemed to have taken it as his solemn duty to anticipate any obstacle that would throw a wrench into Oswald's rapid ascent to undisputed ruler of the city and its dark underbelly.

Oswald's musings were interrupted once more by the sound of Ed's voice.

"Oh, I almost forgot! I dropped by the club earlier in the morning to make sure the seasonal renovations were going according to schedule. I had to step in and prevent the new hire from hanging mistletoe above every single door," a small chuckle, there. Oswald's heart did something funny in his chest. "It's unbelievable how seriously some people take this kind of traditions. But otherwise your employees are doing a pretty good job. The club will be ready for reopening by next Friday."

"You've been adapting quite well to your new role, haven't you?"

Ed visibly preened at the compliment. Oswald hadn't missed the change that the new job had brought to his old friend's demeanour. Ed sat a little straighter, walked with his head a little higher, spoke with confidence even in the presence of the heads of Gotham's oldest crime families, unafraid to flaunt his intellectual superiority over the thugs Oswald surrounded himself with purely because they were good at bashing heads and never asked too many questions about the orders they received.

Even now, as he busied himself with the rearrangement of his papers and documents, he looked like a completely different person from the jittery forensic technician Oswald had met what felt like a lifetime ago in the dark of the woods. And maybe it was his ego getting the better of him, but he liked to think that he had played a fundamental role in Ed's transformation from awkward subordinate to reliable right-hand man.

"I do what I can," Ed simply said, lips curling into a tentative smile. Coming from anyone else, the sentence would have probably sounded disingenuous, but he uttered it with such sincerity that Oswald couldn’t help but be amazed by it.

A strange kind of warmth began to spread from the pit of his stomach, reaching up to his chest. It was a feeling he had grown familiar with in the last weeks.

It had started with the conspiratory grins Ed always offered him whenever their eyes met from the opposite sides of a conference table. A subtle way to assert their superiority over the bumbling crowd that the city of Gotham had the nerve to call public servants. The lingering touches as he helped him dress up in the morning did absolutely nothing to help him banish the fleeting, forbidden thoughts that haunted him whenever Ed was nearby. Oswald wished he could just shake off the shameful urge to run his hands down Ed's lean sides, to adjust the collar of his dress shirt or straighten the knot of his tie. Simple, yet incredibly dangerous little action he could not afford.

But that night he was tired and restless at the same time, willing to risk anything to get rid of the oppressing melancholy that hung over him since garish decorations had started appearing everywhere in Gotham and each glimpse of twinkling Christmas lights brought his mind back, back to a past he'd rather forget if it meant being delivered from the sharp twinge of pain that tore his heart in two every time his mother's face appeared in his memories.

For once, Oswald allowed himself to be selfish.

He pulled his legs back, ignoring the minute pang of pain that shot through his ankle when he twisted it the wrong way, and gestured to the empty space he had just created on the chaise longue. "Come sit with me."

Ed was taken aback by the invitation. His mouth hung half-open for a short moment, as if he was about to say something, to protest or find an excuse tied to how much work still needed to be done before Christmas, but nothing came out. Oswald could almost see the cogs in his brain turning in desperate search of an excuse – some urgent matter that required his attention, or the fact that someone in his position couldn't dream of letting himself be tempted by alcohol and a warm seat by the fireplace.

"You've been working so hard, lately. You need some rest," Oswald insisted. As it turned out, it was all Ed needed to hear.

He settled down carefully beside him. Not quite touching, but still close enough for Oswald to see the ghost of barely suppressed weariness reflected in his dark eyes, behind the lenses of his glasses. A little stiff, always hyper-aware of the distance between them.

"Drink something," Oswald added. He set his own glass down and leaned forwards to offer him the bottle. "You've earned it."

"About that," Ed began, as he retrieved an empty glass from a small table nearby and started pouring. "I understand your stress levels have been heightening since beginning of your mayoral campaign, but I don't think alcohol is the best medicine, not to mention the danger it poses to your physical health. I'm not saying you should quit drinking entirely, just...maybe reduce the amount."

For a moment, Oswald hated him. He hated him because he was right and he made it all sound so simple and logical, as if he needed further proof that by keeping on pursuing his unhealthy habits, he would end up destroying himself from the inside out. He fought off the instinct to answer with a cutting remark that would have shattered the peaceful atmosphere.

If there was something he had learned during his apprenticeship with Fish Mooney, it was that bad habits die hard. He had claimed the city for himself, fought tooth and nail to dispose of each and every one of his enemies, damn it! He could allow himself to indulge in something as mundane as a stiff drink, every now and then. Especially if it kept his thoughts from wandering into dangerous territory. Especially if it distracted him from the way the fine fabric of Ed’s suit trousers hugged his impossibly long legs, stretched out before him.

He snatched the bottle from his hold, using it to refill his glass for the third time. A flash of disappointment crossed Ed's features.

"One more won't kill me," he said, summoning a smile he hoped would come off as reassuring. It appeared to have the desired effect, as Ed's lips quirked up into a smile of his own.

"I suppose you're right."

They toasted, the glasses meeting with a sharp sound that echoed through the old walls of the sitting room.

"She would be proud of you, you know."

"Pardon?"

"Your mother. I couldn't help but notice you've been feeling quite miserable these last few days. Statistically people tend to spend Christmas with their family and loved ones, so I assumed..."

Ed left his sentence hanging. The fact that he had been able to deduce the reason for his foul mood spoke volumes about how close they had grown since Oswald had gotten him out of the hellhole that was Arkham Asylum. Oswald saw him look away, averting his glance with a tiny twinge of embarrassment, no doubt afraid he might have overstepped. What nonsense! Even if he had, Oswald wouldn't have been able to hold it against him anyway.

"She worked twice as hard before the holidays to make sure she could afford to buy me a gift. Nothing special, usually a scarf or a new pair of shoes. But to me they were priceless. No matter how busy she was trying to keep us afloat, she always managed to be home for Christmas so that we could put up some decorations and celebrate by baking gingerbread cookies together."

"She sounds like a remarkable woman," Ed observed. "I wish I had a chance to meet her before...well."

"I miss her, Ed," he admitted. "Even now. Especially now. They say the pain fades with time, little by little, until one day you wake up and it's gone. Perhaps it will get better once Christmas is over and I can get all these happy families out of my sight."

He let out a deep, grief-filled sigh. As if it was the most natural thing the world, Ed leaned forwards, taking his right hand in his own. Not squeezing, just holding it and gently tracing the sharp lines of his bones with his thumb, the touch soft on the rough skin beneath. Oswald's entire body tensed.

"She was right about you, Oswald," he said, the tone of his voice almost solemn. "You were destined for greatness. Look how far you've come!"

Oswald was left staring, unable to utter even a simple 'thank you, my friend'. He was paralyzed, unsure of what to do, what to say, if to say anything at all. A deer in the headlights.

He felt like he had back in his office, the morning he had failed to confess his feelings to Ed and tried to play it off as an embarrassing bout of forgetfulness. Ed who had been looking at him with the barely-there hint of a smile at the corner of his lips, which had soon been replaced by a disappointed frown as Oswald cut the conversation short and urged him to return to his duties.

Or like he had felt at the end of the grand dinner he had organised with the sole purpose of creating the perfect atmosphere for a confession, only for him to fail once more. His courage had abandoned him all of a sudden when he had realised that he couldn't for the life of him remember a single sentence of the well-rehearsed speech he had prepared for the occasion. It had been too easy to blame it on the wine, then. Bearing the apprehensive expression on Ed's face had been more difficult.

Then again, he didn't even know if such thing as an appropriate reaction to such an intimate, unprompted gesture existed. Because what little common sense was left in him was screaming at him to take his hand away before the bourbon running through his veins persuaded him to say something incredibly stupid. And also because whatever Ed was doing now was teetering on the edge Oswald had sworn to never cross, after his disastrous attempts at spitting the truth out.

Best to keep it to himself, he had decided. He had always been an excellent liar, after all, and if a single act of deception could save him from witnessing the look of pure disgust on Ed's face at the revelation, it was just as well. He feigned a coughing fit, a clumsy excuse to pull his hand back to cover his mouth. Ed let him, shifting back on the chaise longue to re-establish a comfortable distance between them.

"What about you?" Oswald asked, then. "I know you're not keen on celebrating holidays, but you still must miss your family."

He realised he had made a mistake the moment his question was met with silence. Ed took a long gulp of bourbon before muttering something along the lines of: "No, I…I can't say I do."

He took it as his cue to refrain from enquiring further. Instead, he took another sip from his own glass and settled back. It took several long minutes for the silence to be broken once more.

"We never really celebrated."

Ed wasn't looking at him when he spoke. His eyes were fixed on the still half full glass of bourbon he held in his right hand, observing the dark liquid sloshing back and forth as he gently swayed it this way and that.

Oswald's gaze lazily trailed along his figure. Only the first button of his white button-down was undone, yet the loose knot of the black tie hanging around his throat gave him a somewhat dishevelled appearance. The pink flush in his cheeks as well as down the side of his neck only added to the effect.

Oswald took another sip just to persuade his thoughts to move in a different direction. Ed didn't even seem to notice, caught as he was in the same bittersweet trap of lost time and old memories that had ensnared him earlier. More bitter than sweet, as far as he was concerned.

"My mother tried, at least. The rare days she was in a good mood she would make me hot chocolate and promise to take me ice skating, but only if I behaved. By the time Christmas rolled around she would always find a way to take her promise back. She'd claim that I cheated on a test, or that I talked back, or that I did something I wasn’t allowed to do. It didn't really matter." 

Oswald's lips moved without making a sound. The words were stuck in his throat. Something told him that whatever he might have come up with in an attempt at sounding encouraging, would have seemed stupid and insincere coming from the man who had just spent the better part of the evening reminiscing about his happy childhood, monologuing about how much he missed the comfort of his mother's unconditional love and affection.

"My father...my father didn't care. The holidays were nothing but another excuse to stay home, argue with my mother, and drink himself to a stupor. We never had a tree or decorations or anything of the sort. Now that I think about it, the best Christmas days I can remember are the ones I spent in my room playing videogames until I fell asleep," the confession was accompanied by a chocked sound. What was meant to be a laugh but came out as something more similar to a whimper. It took him a while to find his voice, after that. "When I moved out and started working for the GCPD I never had much time to celebrate on my own. I didn't mind spending the Eve in the lab. Then I'd get home and order take-out. Not much of a Christmas meal, but somewhere down the line it became something of a tradition."

That was more than Oswald could take.

The picture of a child Ed Nygma curled up in his blankets, forcing himself to focus on his videogames to try and shut out the noise of his parents shouting at each other on the other side of the wall, was heart-breaking. As was the one of the young man spending the holidays on his own, eating take-out Chinese food from the carton and watching bad soap operas on his black and white TV.

Oswald's fingers remained clenched around the armrest for the entire time it took Ed to tell his story, so tight that his knuckles were starting to turn white. Perhaps it was the whiskey, perhaps it was the fact that he had never been that good at subduing his strongest emotions, but Oswald resolved right there and then to help his dear friend erase all traces of his painful past. Ed would only need to say the word and Oswald would take it upon himself to hunt down those responsible and present them to Ed for the final judgement.

But that was a conversation for another time, a time in which they'd both be less tipsy and their minds less clouded by alcohol and unspoken feelings. Until then, there wasn't much he could do to help him.

Or was there?

"I'll ask Olga to prepare a proper Christmas dinner for the both of us," he blurted out, before his common sense could get in the way. "We could have turkey and mashed potatoes. Maybe some meat pies. No onions, obviously. I don't know if she's any good at baking, but store-bought gingerbread will do just fine. In fact, I know just the place. And then some mulled wine, of course. I'll tell my men to see to the decorations, I was thinking about having them set up some lights in the gardens."

Ed's head perked up. He blinked once, as if having a hard time making sense of what he was hearing. "There's no need--"

"It's only fair," Oswald carried on, shrugging off his feeble protest. "I've had my share of happy Christmas days, it's about time you get one too."

Ed was staring at him, dumbfounded. Oswald decided to leave him all the time he needed to wrap his head around his offer.

That was when the first doubts started piling up in the back of his mind. Maybe he had been too reckless. As a free mand and an esteemed member of the mayoral entourage, he no doubt has something better to do than spend the holidays with his employer. And now Oswald had put him in a difficult position, because there was no way he was going to find a polite way to refuse his proposition without offending him and --

He was on the verge of taking it all back, playing it off as some kind of joke, when Ed put away his glass. And then he was pulling him into a hug, long arms wrapped tight around Oswald's middle and face buried in the crook of his neck. If Oswald's heart had skipped a beat before, now it threatened to burst out of his ribcage.

"It's the kindest thing someone's ever done for me," the words were muffled against the smooth fabric of his waistcoat, almost unintelligible. "Thank you, Oswald."

Afterwards, Oswald would struggle to remember how he went from fighting off the temptation hug him back with all his willpower, to melting in Ed's embrace, the tension he had accumulated leaving his body all at once and allowing him to finally return the gesture.

As he breathed in the faint smell of Ed's cologne and basked in his warmth, he came to a powerful realisation. All of a sudden, he knew with perfect clarity that he wouldn't be getting a better chance. He had consumed enough liquid courage for his inhibitions not to be an obstacle anymore. No elaborate pre-prepared speeches, this time. He'd force himself to be sincere and hope his strenuous effort would be rewarded.

He pushed Ed back, gently, coaxing him into breaking the hug so that he could look at him in the face. Behind the his thick-rimmed glasses, Ed's dark brown eyes were a perfect mirror to his confusion.

"There's something I've been trying to tell you for a while, now."

Ed gave a hum of acknowledgement but didn't say anything. He was waiting for him, offering him another chance to do what he so desperately needed to do and yet still struggled to bring himself to.

"And it's frustrating because I've always been good with words. I can't count the times I lied and cheated to save my own life. Even when worst came to worst, I always knew I could talk my way out of trouble. But that's beside the point. What I'm trying to say, Ed, is that I..."

A pause. Hesitation. Blind fear of rejection taking over, its cold fingers wrapping around his throat and having him almost choke on the words that were so desperately pushing to get past his trembling lips.

"I'm listening," Ed said, encouraging.

But Oswald didn't hear him. All he heard was the sound of his mother's voice in his head. _Remember, my dear Oswald, sometimes actions speak louder than words._

Oswald surged forwards, both hands coming to rest on either side of his neck, and eyelids fluttering close a moment before he pressed his lips against Ed's in a gentle, tentative kiss. He felt Ed shiver against him. He couldn't tell if his lips parted in surprise or in an eager attempt at reciprocating the gesture.

He pulled away, unable to bear the uncertainty any longer.

"I-- I don't know what this is," he laughed nervously and shook his head. "Dear me, I'm making a fool of myself."

"You're not!" Ed interjected. "I mean, I have-- I am a tale in people's minds, I weave their desires into captivating pictures and enticing stories, yet most find it hard to share me. What am I?"

Oswald frowned. "A dream?"

"A fantasy. You have no idea of how much time I spent fantasizing about...well, _this_."

As to reinforce his statement, he tilted his head and kissed him again. Slower, this time, granting Oswald the chance to taste bourbon on his tongue, mixed with another completely different taste. Something new, hard to describe, but entirely _Ed_. Feeling bolder, he drew back and nipped at his bottom lip. The sharp intake of breath it drew from Ed was tantalizing.

_How ironic_ , Oswald thought to himself. He who had always been dismissive of the embarrassing antics of Mooney's men, always drooling after the scantily clad performers singing and dancing on the stage of her nightclub, he who had never thought it possible for him to fall prey of as demeaning as lust, to find himself aching to feel another man's skin on his. To feel Ed sigh and tremble in his arms, his voice rough and laced with want as it uttered his name.

Ed deepened the kiss, with so much enthusiasm that Oswald found himself flat on his back, one leg dangling from the edge of the chaise longue and the other awkwardly crammed in between them as Ed all but crawled on top of him.

"Easy," he murmured, placing a hand on his chest.

He was somewhat disappointed about the layers of fabric preventing him from feeling if his heart was beating nearly as fast as his own. It wasn't hard to imagine it was, though, if the positively elated expression on Ed's face was anything to go by. In fact, it seemed to offer a pretty accurate indication of what was going on inside that brilliant mind of his.

Or maybe not so brilliant after all, if it had not only failed to pick up on the many, many hints of Oswald's affection but even persuaded him that there was no chance of his feelings ever being reciprocated. Oswald wasn't really going to complain. Not if it meant that he would be eternally justified in spoiling Ed rotten with the excuse of reminding him about it.

Ed pulled away with a small chuckle. "Sorry. I got a bit carried away."

"Please, don't apologize. God knows how much restraint I had to put into holding myself back each time you insisted for being so through in helping me with my clothes," Oswald said, taking great pride in seeing Ed's cheeks turn an even darker shade of pink.

Somewhere in the house, a clock struck midnight.

Oswald was suddenly aware of how tired he was. A good night's sleep would no doubt benefit them both. They could discuss the unexpected yet very pleasant developments of what had started as a boring evening by the fire the following morning, in front of two cups of hot coffee and a liberal amount of bacon and pancakes. Yes, that sounded about right.

"Come on," Oswald urged him, patting him lightly on the back. "We have a lot to talk about, tomorrow. And a speech to write before Christmas."

"Just a little longer," Ed protested, burying his face back in the crook of his neck. Oswald sighed, unable to wipe away the contented little smile clinging to his lips.

"The Mayor and his Chief of Staff," he mused, one hand raising to pet the other man's hair, gently scratching at his scalp with the pads of his fingers to elicit a satisfied huff from him. "It sounds like the title of an article from one of those horrible tabloids they sell at the entrance of supermarkets."

"I know. What will the newspapers say?"

The teasing edge in his voice left Oswald wondering if Ed wouldn't have enjoyed the rush of attention coming from a scandal. No publicity is bad publicity, isn't that what they used to say? Still, Oswald couldn't say he would be very thrilled to discover dozens of reporters camping in the garden of Van Dahl Manor in the hopes of catching a glimpse of the unprecedented love affair between the Mayor and his second in command.

"I hope nothing, after I bribe the publishers into keeping any information about our relationship to themselves."

They shared a genuine laugh, at that.

Afterwards, they walked upstairs together, shoulders touching, the back of their hands brushing with every step they climbed. Oswald had never thought letting him retire to his bedroom, just two doors away, would be so difficult. The smile Ed offered him from over his shoulder before wishing him good night and disappearing inside his room, though, was enough to remind him that there would be plenty of time for them to explore the welcome if unexpected development of their relationship. 

Besides, Oswald already knew he was going to have a very busy couple of days.

First thing in the morning, he would talk with Olga about that Christmas dinner. Then he would pay a call to his employees, currently engaged in the renovations of his nightclub, to make sure they'd be available to stop by the mansion and place some festive decorations around the gardens. Then he would need to start thinking about an appropriate gift for Ed - and _that_ was going to be the real challenge.

Oswald grinned to himself.

He had something to look forward to.

For the first time in years, he felt like a child eagerly waiting for Christmas day.


End file.
